


Between Desire and Hatred

by Churbooseanon



Series: RVB 60 Minute Challenge [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she falls, Carolina thinks of poetry and the one regret of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Desire and Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Poem mentioned is _Fire and Ice_ by Robert Frost, my favorite poem.
> 
> For RVB 60 Minute Challenge for 3/16/2015: Once, she knew kindness. Completed in 55 minutes.

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. 

If that’s the truth then either Charlotte Church, known in the military as Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer, has had a rather boring life. The very concept, a small part of her mind tells her, is rather unfair. After all, what can be boring about being betrayed by one of your best friends as he tears AI fragments heavily integrated into your brain out, physically? What can be boring about then, in a moment where your mind is going through a strange sort of combination of hard reset and purging of vital functions, being thrown over the edge of an icy cliff toward an undoubtedly watery fate? What can be boring about the fight she had with Tex or the one sided combat she’d had minutes before that with York? How can her life not fixate on the missions she did well and the friends she saved and high school and her childhood or even her mother?

Why does it play a single scene, a single regret, over and over again? 

There’s a poem, that small part of her mind that says this is unfair brings up. There is a poem that fits this situation perfectly. A poem by an Old Earth poet, back in the twentieth century who had been named Robert Frost. A poem about the end of the world, the end of all things. The first part said that the world would end in fire, be brought down around people because of the things they wanted. For a long time Carolina has agreed. But not because of any human desire, not because of any want of her own. She’s seen the pictures of glassed planets. She knows what it looks like when something akin to God’s own fury rains down upon a world, leaving only his fiery wrath in its wake. 

That’s how the world will end, Carolina knows it.

The poem, though…

It goes on to talk about ice. How it is an ending fitting for hatred. Cold and consuming, and leaving one in agony as they go slowly. 

This is the end that Maine, that Sigma, that fire itself has chosen for her. Desire for what she possessed, desire for what will make you better, stronger, faster, condemns others to the hateful apocalypse of the cold. 

She falls, and the seconds between each racing heartbeat are a racing eternity. An unending fear and fate as she plummets, devoid of feeling, utterly emptied out by her loss. 

And all she can remember is one thing…

A single point of fiery light. 

******

Tomorrow everything changes, Charlotte reminds herself as she moves through Errera. Tomorrow she goes up to the MOI and her years of work in the UNSC pay off. Tomorrow she becomes her mother’s daughter in rights, fights the war her mother died for, and looks for the way to end it. For victory. For her father to…

But no, she refuses to think about him. ‘The Director’ she’s supposed to call him. Not a father. Not a guardian. Not the man who all but abandoned her emotionally even when he’d been a relatively devoted, doting father in the eyes of everyone else around them. The Director is far away, somewhere on a UNSC ship that he probably doesn’t deserve, playing with ideas that could get people hurt, all for a good cause. Charlotte can live with that. It’s not like she isn’t willingly becoming one of his guinea pigs. Together, she’s resolved, they’re going to win the war her mother couldn’t. They will finally find their revenge. 

Which makes tonight the last chance she has to be anything mirroring a civilian until either the war is over or she is. 

Partying has never been so high on her to do list before. 

Eyes are on her from almost every direction. It feels nice, truth be told, to know she can hold their attention this long. There are men, and women, all around looking at her. She can tell by the glazed over look on some eyes that they’re doing a lot more than looking at her, that their minds’ eyes are places they probably shouldn’t be. But hell, she’s spent a lot of time around military men and women, and she knows how important these moments of escapism are, so who is she to burst their bubbles? She’s not going home with any of them. She’s going to dance until she’s tired and then… well, then she’s going to figure it out from there. 

Charlotte walks straight to the bar and leans against it, pushing herself between two occupied stools to get the attention of the bartender. The woman to her left barely even pays her any mind, her attention clearly caught up in the handsome man beside her. The man on her right?

He’s cute, she decides in just a moment of looking at him. More than cute. Attractive in that way she figures men who think they can have anything they want tend to be. His hair is tousled artfully to maybe look like he just got out of bed. She’s heard of this approach, the ‘just had sex’ look that was supposed to draw people in. Not that she puts any weight in it, of course. The hair just looks silly, but his face? What’s the old saying?

It could launch a thousand ships. Golden apple material right there. Hell, from how stable he is in his seat, he’s probably dance partner material too. Quickly she puts in her order and turns her attention to the man, leaning just enough over the bar and angling toward him in just the right way to give him a tempting peek at her cleavage. Men tended to be more amenable to her when they got freebies like that. And all she wants tonight is amenable. 

“Hey there,” she says, making sure her voice is just high enough to be heard over the throb of the music, “you come here often?”

He doesn’t even turn to look at her. Charlotte frowns briefly, looking at the bartender only long enough to accept her martini before returning her attention to the handsome man. Charlotte Church is not to be ignored. 

“Because it looks like you’re made for places like this,” she continues, smiling warmly in his direction. Still he doesn’t look up. “Bet you’re the kind of guy that likes…”

Even as she speaks the man is doing something with his far hand. Charlotte trails off to watch him for a minute. He flicks his lighter open, the flame coming to life immediately. Flicks his lighter closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. And it doesn’t even happen with the beat of the song. So… he’s ignoring her. Well, Charlotte is soon going to put an end to that. 

One of the advantages she’s found she has in any engagement is that she’s fast. Faster than most people her size, and definitely faster than people larger than her like this guy. Maybe it’s because of that, or because he isn’t paying attention to her in the least, that Charlotte is able to catch him off guard. Her hand flashes out and as he closes the lighter again she’s plucking it from his hands and pulling it back. 

“Hey!” the man protests, and finally, his eyes are on her. 

And dear god are his eyes on her. They rove up and down her body like hands do, stroking over her face and down her chest and slipping over the parts of her legs left bare below where the skirt ends. Then, just as quickly, they flash back up to her face, meet her own gaze and the man is smiling. 

“Need a light?” he asks, looking pointedly to the lighter in her hand after a moment. 

The lighter that Charlotte now finds herself compelled to flick open and closed. She can feel the cool enamel under her fingers, almost icy compared to the warmth of the metal from his own grip. She looks down at the thing, quickly picks out the logo for the club on the side, and frowns. So he didn’t even bring it here. This got more and more interesting every moment. 

“I think I’ve got one,” she teases, and the look of confusion on the man’s face is brief. Then he reaches up and Charlotte has to watch in shock and no small amount of understanding as he pulls earplugs from his ears. 

He hadn’t been able to hear her.

“Care to repeat that, gorgeous?” he asks, his smile wide and warm and Charlotte thinks that if she had a few more drinks in herself she’d melt before that look. As it is she hasn’t had more drinks, and she’s got a pretty iron strong will as it is. 

“I don’t think I do,” she chuckles and winks at him. “Tell me, why come to a club if you’re not going to have fun?”

“DD,” he explains, sitting up straighter in his feet. 

That… is a pretty good explanation. Score one point for handsome-but-strange. 

“Good thing to be for your friends,” she smiles back. “If only I’d thought to bring one.”

She can see the look of concentration on his face. Clearly the guy is looking for some hidden meaning there, trying to figure out if it’s a pick up line. Or maybe he’s trying to come up with one. But no, if he doesn’t have one on the tip of his tongue immediately, Charlotte has no intention of letting him think it up. Seriously, if he’s sober, he’s either terrible at flirting, or just not good at being actively approached by a beautiful woman like herself. 

“Well I could…”

“Anyway,” Charlotte continues, ignoring his clear intention of being charming quite easily, “let’s make a little bargain, okay? You keep me entertained until your friends need to go, and I’ll return your lighter.”

The way he sits there, fumbling for words for a moment, his mouth flapping and his cheeks red just cheers her. He’s going to be the best toy ever for the course of her night. But she’s got to bail him out somehow, right? Before he digs himself a pit of ‘pretty but not smart enough to be entertaining.’ So she simply offers him her hand. 

And this time, well, this time his smile almost seems like it was made for her and only her. That, she thinks, she could get used to. If only she had the time. But no, she’s a civvie for one night and one night only, so there is no point in her trying to linger around and get something more out of him. Hell, she’s shipping out early, so there isn’t a point in getting drunk or attached, or even seeking to hook up. 

A lot of those urges she’s put aside for the sake of the war. Time and time again Charlotte has sworn not to leave behind pain if she dies, not like her mother did. No men to be attached to her and grieve. No child too young to understand why she did it or care beyond the fact that mommy wasn’t coming home to sing her to sleep anymore. Just a soldier in a time of war looking to fight the good fight and save some lives. 

When he takes her hand in his he just keeps smiling, wide enough that Charlotte wants to kiss the look off his face. Instead she makes a show of slipping the lighter into her bra, and she winks as his eyes follow its path. 

“Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you fetch it back out yourself,” she teases, knowing it will never happen. 

His laughter fills her ears as she guides him to the dance floor. She’s got a night to blow, and clearly her first companion is going to be several different types of fun. 

And god is he ever. Through the whole of the night he stays there, at her side. They dance together like it’s meant to be, and the way he smiles at her makes her feel warmer inside than any amount of drinking ever could. His eyes are a warm hazel that never leave hers except when they need to look around to find someone they bumped into and apologize. Truthfully she expects him more than once to make a move, but he doesn’t. For all that their dancing itself could be called more than mildly indicative of where he clearly wants the night to end, he’s a perfect gentleman. 

In another life, she thinks, this might play out differently. She might give him her number or invite him to take her home after he drops his friends off. They might enjoy a night together before all is said and done. Instead, when her internal clock tells her that it’s approaching one, she pulls out of his hold. 

“Going so soon?” the man asks. All these hours and she still doesn’t know his name. Or he hers. But it’s better this way, Charlotte tells him. 

“I ship out in the morning,” she answers. “Need to get some sleep.”

There is a flash of shock, and then a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Strange. She hadn’t expected to see that. 

“I get it,” he responds, and then he holds his hand out to her. 

For a long moment Charlotte stares at it. What does he expect? Her number hastily scribbled across his palm? What good would that do him? A kiss on the back of his hand? He doesn’t seem that cheesy? A hand shake? God what a terrible way to end a night. 

“My lighter,” he says, clearly reading the confusion on her face. 

Oh. That. 

Charlotte winks as she backs away. “Nope. I’m the valiant knight, fighting to save the kingdom. And you’re my fair lady, who has given me a token of your affection and faith that I might carry into battle. I swear on this charm that I will win. When the war’s over, know that I did it for you.”

It’s a silly thing to say, but Charlotte is in a silly mood. So she laughs as the man stares at her in shock and amusement, and once she’s far enough away, she turns and runs, laughing at the pure joy in the moment. 

She’s never felt so alive. 

And the next morning, when she sees his face across the aisle on the transport up to the MOI, she doesn’t know what to think. 

“Do I get my lighter back now?” he asks as he sits across from her. 

Charlotte, no, she became Agent Carolina the second she stepped onto the transport this morning, stares at him. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like I won’t get it back eventually,” the man insists, his hand extended to her. “Trust me, if I have about thirty minutes, I can get it from any secure location you could put it on a vessel of this class. It’s what I do.”

“Who are you?” she asks in wonder, staring at the man.

“Well, that would be Agent New York according to my paperwork. And you?”

“Agent Carolina,” she answers, still trying to process her shock. 

“Well, Carolina,” he says, his voice warm and smooth like melted chocolate, “you can give it to me now, or I’ll take it from you later.”

“It’s my token,” she says, shaking her head. It’s in a pocket of her fatigues, and she intends to keep it there. “You can have it back when I win the war. Remember?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Okay. But I’ll hold you to that.”

******

As she falls Carolina isn’t sure what it is about the memory that holds on so tightly to her. Maybe it’s regret. She threw the lighter up to him back in the elevator shaft. Was that her way of saying she didn’t see herself winning the war anymore? Was it her finally and fully rejecting him, a man she had come to be so fond of? 

Was it something deep down in her recognizing that her end had come, and wanting to give him one last message? 

Maybe, she thinks, her mind caught up in a strange sort of limbo as her arm slowly comes up with the grappling gun and her body tries to save itself even as her mind checks out, maybe it’s something more. 

Maybe in your final moments you don’t see your life flash before your eyes. You see only your biggest regret. And doesn’t that describe York to a T? A man she thinks she can love and will never let herself reach for? Isn’t she just like her mother, to leave him behind, hurting as he undoubtedly did? 

Fire above her. Ice below. Desire and Hatred sandwiching regret. 

But Carolina… it’s not your time. 

The gun kicks back as she shoots and her body braces itself for pain. 

And Charlotte Church decides that fire or ice, it doesn’t matter. This isn’t her end. Her war has only just begun.


End file.
